A Conversation
by Lady Cinnibar
Summary: This is a one shot wonder, a single chapter view of... What would a conversation between an Immortal and a Watcher be like, if the Watcher could ask any question?


A Conversation

Disclaimer: I do not own the idea of Immortals, or the characters of Adam Pierson, Duncan MacLeod, Connor MacLeod, Joe Dawson, or Ritchie Ryan. I do not own the idea of the Watchers. If I did, I would be rich. As it is, David-Panzer makes money off of them, and endures my posting of this entirely hypothetical event. However, the Watcher, call her Shan, and the Immortal, call her Nan, are my characters, invented within the parameters set by David-Panzer for Watchers and Immortals. So there, you can't sue me. Haven't got any money anyway, but if you want my college loans, you can have them. Not as if I really want them, they're negative money.

******story starts below*****

"Well, I'd say it's a fairly safe assumption that most Immortals don't have a clue about Watchers." The Immortal sighed. Her voice was a warm, if slightly rough, alto, that once had been trained to sing. "I mean, Shan-luv, I only know because my teacher taught me about them, just to get me off his butt for a little while. And whoever is Watching my ass is good. I mean, I haven't seen them much at all! Except, well, that one day they fell through the ice..."

"What?" The voice was filled with shock and question, with an edge of panic to it. It was a soft, furry soprano, untrained. It carried emotion equally as well as the Immortal's voice.

"Ice skating. I like ice-skating, okay? You glide around on the ice, have your CD player on, think romantically, and then bruise your derriere." The Immortal spoke with a hint of humor. "Well, he skated too close to a thin spot, and crashed through. I pulled him out, saw the tattoo. He looked so embarrassed, but I dragged him to the hospital, and got him treated for exposure."

"You did?"

"Poor kid shouldn't suffer for my hobbies. I was polite, though. I didn't ask his name, or look at his license when I gave him CPR. I did slip a note in his pocket, telling him I'd be going to Rio de Janeiro for awhile to talk to an old friend, and that I'd be back in town after a week, flat."

"He's probably older than you."

"Eh, I call everyone kid when I feel smug." You could hear the grin over the tape player. "Knew it was MY Watcher because he had a digital video camera with him. And he has that cherry red hair, you know?"

"Get that leer off your face!"

"What, I like red heads! Fiery!"

The questioner laughed. "You're strange!"

"Darling, I've known that for years! Any Immortals you know of that aren't strange, at least a little? I mean... then again, can you name any perfectly normal mortals? As if! By it's very definition, normal would mean the middle of the bell curve, and that's only two percent of the population!"

"Point taken. You're digressing, though."

"Oh, right... No, most Immortals have no clue about the organization as a whole, I think. I can't know, because I can't read minds, but I'd figure as much. Otherwise, you'd have been in a lot of trouble. I mean, even I don't like being watched all the time. I've gotten downright paranoid about shades on my windows... and frosted glass is becoming my glass of choice for shower doors."

"I don't think you'd be Watched in the shower!"

"You never know with men, dear. Another species entirely, I think."

"Sometimes I'd agree with you on that one..."

"And some women out there are pretty kinky. I mean, I appreciate the female body, after all, it is perfection in it's very concept, and, well, you gotta evaluate the competition..."

"You're gossiping." It was a flat accusation, laughter lurking behind it.

"What? I'm not supposed to be serious all the time! It's against my constitutional rights! Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, wot?"

"Right, next question on the list... what's your opinion of other Immortals?"

"You have a list? What is this, forty questions, assigned by Dawson? Wait, no... you spend days thinking of what to ask me, don't you? Come off it, lemme see the list? Please? Pretty please with sugar on top, and a jar of cherries? I'll let you play with my sword... just not near my neck..."

Laughter, again. "Stick to the topic."

"I hope whomever you have listening to the tape is enjoying this..." a dark mutter. "Growph. Lemme see it, please?"

"No! Now answer the questions, please?"

An audible whine. "Please? No? Well, then, I don't wanna." A sniff, and a haughty humph.

"Aww... don't do this to me. Come on, Nan, you promised you'd tell me stuff... Sure, it was way back when I was a kid, and you were my baby-sitter, but you did promise."

"Alright. A promise is a promise, and I'll keep my word. I'll answer the questions. For this one, well, other Immortals? No problem with them. Don't like taking heads, though. Even if I have to in order to survive, it's murder, plain and simple. I hate the idea of the Game. But, if I have to... I'll defend myself. Go hide on holy ground, no? Make funny faces at them when they realize they can't take my head... run like hell if they try to do it anyway." A sigh, mournful. "Some Immortals are annoying, some aren't. Each one's an individual, you know, you have to judge them by their current actions, not by their past, or by your pre-conceptions. I mean, we're not automatically evil and all that. So, I tend to be wary, but respectful. Most of them are older than me, after all. Respect your elders and what-not, yah?"

"What's your opinion of Methos, the legend?"

"Who-eee! Five thousand years? The bugger's probably like Rasputin! Stubborn, ye'd think? Probably very, very good at hiding, and knows where there's holy ground and where there's not... I'd be surprised if he hadn't misbehaved now and again... I mean, even I get the temptation to smash and burn things... It's there, you know, this anger that I didn't die, and stay dead, like everyone else in the world. So, you gotta think, he's been around a long time, he's probably gotten over his anger, but now... he's got this insane desire to live... I'd bet he's a mean hand with a sword, too! Think about it, five thousand years to learn in? Owies... my neck hurts just thinking about it..." There was laughter in the back of her voice, and a wise listener would suspect she was keeping a secret from her questioner. But, the questioner did not hear it, and did not press further about Methos.

"What about the MacLeods?"

"Connor was cool. Understood the universe isn't fair, I'm given to understand. I haven't the least clue about him, really, he pre-dates me. If I were to say something, though, from the gossip I have heard, he was a true and loving older and wiser cousin... " She chuckled briefly. "Like me, huh, little one?"

"Kinda, excepting I'm not an Immortal, and I'm probably not that in need of an Immortal's advice."

"Och! You need the advice of one who has suffered and been through it, though. Drop that latest boyfriend of yours. He's trouble, dearling. And, no, you're not an Immortal... never will be... I think I'm relieved I won't have to deal with your obscene sense of curiosity for eternity. Are you sure you weren't a kitten in a past life, sweetie?"

"Back to the topic, old woman!"

"Alright! I've said what I will about a man I know nothing about... Duncan, now... I'm gonna bite my tongue before I say something stupid. He is Dawson's assignment, after all. Nine to one, Dawson listens to these tapes. He is your boss, isn't he? I'd heard something to that affect... Ah, what the hell... In for a penny, in for a pound! He's a darn Boy Scout! One of the good ones who didn't blow up paint cans, or try to drive the scout master nuts. You can almost see him as a puppy dog, all shining eyes, drooly tongue, wagging tail, and big huge muddy paws bouncing all over the place. Floppy little ears, one perked, one half-folded, at curious attention. For all of that... Damn, the man is sexy! Especially when he forgets, and that Scottish accent comes out... my bones feel like they're melting!"

The Watcher questioning the amicable Immortal giggled. Dawson, indeed listening to the tape, chuckled, and shook his head.

"As your big cousin, if I ever catch you giving into him, girl..."

"No chance. Non-interference..."

"Rather like the Star Trek Prime Directive, don't ya' think, doll?"

"I can see the similarities, yes..."

"And who breaks the Prime Directive all the time? But Kirk! Wait... Dawson as Kirk? That's just wrong! Quick, gimme the next question before my mind fritzes from that mental image!"

"What mental image?"

"Dawson in a Star Trek uniform, and Mr. MacLeod, with an elf's ears of course, behind him! Next question, please?" There was laughter, and a begging tone to the Immortal's voice.

Dawson paused the tape briefly to burst out laughing. He didn't know how long it lasted, but he wiped his eyes and hit play again, wondering if he should call Mac Mr. Spock next time he saw him... It would drive the Immortal nuts.

"What do you think about being an Immortal?" The laughter lurked behind her words, a professional holding back the delight at the Immortal's picture of her blue-playing, bar-tending boss. And his assignment. You could hear her thoughts. _Introducing, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod as Mister Spock, the Scottish science officer? Or, shouldn't he be the engineer?_

"Don't go there, girl. Pierson gave me a book of swear words in every language he could find them in... I'm not gonna turn the air blue in a church's gardens, luv, and I'm not scorching your pretty little innocent ears."

"I've probably heard worse... you don't like being an Immortal?"

"Don't like? Sugar, I loathe, abhor, despise, revile, and hate being an Immortal! It just isn't fair! I'll go on, knowing all of you are dying, and have to fight for my life, and here I am... I wanted to die in that accident! It hurt like a... a... it hurt a lot..."

"Like a...?"

"Nope, not swearing."

"You don't like that..." She drew it out into an unfinished sentence, a question.

"That I have to leave you behind." Her voice was soft, and bitter. "That no matter how I strive, eventually, you'll be a footnote, and I'll be unable to talk to you. To someone who knew me before I became this. To someone who understands at least a little. I hate the fact that my best friend has to go on, thinking I'm dead... I hate the fact that my fiancee has to live without me, that my parents had to bury their child, and their child had to let them do it, all unknowing that she's still alive."

"Oh..."

"But at the same time, I have to acknowledge, I'm glad I'm alive. That someone will be around to say 'hey, this person lived' and to keep the torch of your memories alive, despite centuries. That in my knowing you, some part of you has become an Immortal, and you will never die, unless I'm foolish enough to lose my head. I'm going to seize onto you, and never let you go, and you will be there, for centuries, and I'll never forget you. I'll paint poems of you, and I'll mark you in history, as a true and lasting memorial. It's a great gift, this ability to do that, to keep the flames of the past alive, and teach the history of what was in order to guide the future from making our mistakes. Just think, one day I may walk upon other worlds, when man colonizes space, and I will be able to carve the names of those I have loved on foreign soils, and I will know and love more than I could have hoped to before.

"I can't have children, not of the body, but I can have children of my heart, and family of the heart. And that family will live forever, in the soul, if not in the body. I wish I could have children of my flesh and blood, that Immortals weren't sterile by our very nature, but can you imagine the logistical nightmares of that?"

"Logistical nightmares?"

"You love a person, you have a child. You leave, moving on. Then, you return, centuries later, and fall in love again. To your own descendant. Can we say serious hazard of inbreeding, here? Can we also say, over-population? One Immortal couple, with a child every five years, would be able to, oh say, repopulate the world."

"Yeah, I guess I can see it."

"Although, I am investing in science. One kid. Just one, that's all I ask. One baby to have, and to hold, and to know my bloodline will live on, among mortals, and I'll have descendants who look like me..." She sighed again. "Most of that's the maternal desire, part of it is a little voice, saying 'if other people look like you, then you've got a much better cover for the future'."

"Err..."

"Unlike you, I've got to plan for centuries, not decades. Ew! God! I just realized, I'm going to have to survive all the tacky fashions people can come up with for who knows how long! Ew! Let's hope leisure suits never come back into fashion, shall we?"

"Agreed!" The Watcher interviewing the Immortal had a violent fervor to her voice. "I've seen those pictures! Agreed! Agreed!"

"At least I have a nice future..." the Immortal mused. "I'll always be able to get a job, even if it is a street-walker. At least I'll be disease free, and I won't have to worry about, well, temporary retirement..." Her voice sounded disgusted. "But, I'm only going to hold that as a last, desperate resort for money..."

"I'd say..." The Watcher sounded equally disgusted. "How can you even consider it?"

"Survival, dear. It all comes down to this question. What am I willing to do to keep on living for another day? As it is, it's only a body, and it's only physical. No way would I like doing it, but if I have to, to live, I'll do it."

"Are all Immortals so... cold-blooded?"

"Cold-blooded? Neh! If you had to, because you were out on the streets, and couldn't turn to the law for help, or to the Watchers, would you? It's called being practical. But, I'd rather not be practical. I just always have to consider it. The luxury of having a normal life has been torn away from me. I can't have one, like you. I can't do much of anything. Background checks, fingerprints, DNA checks, dental records... Can you imagine an Immortal in a world like Gattica? I suppose we'd be locked in deep underground cells, objects of scientific study." Dawson could hear the bleak horror in her voice, an object study in the emotion of terror. "I've got to be the ultimate boy scout. I have to be prepared for any eventuality. Oh, love, sometimes I quake in my shoes, thinking about the future. You're lucky, you're normal, you're a living breathing person who's most definitely completely human. Me? What am I? I'm Immortal, alright. You cut me, I bleed, briefly. I die, and come back. Am I even human? Of course I am, you say with your eyes. But what am I? I've got this ability that no mortal has! I've got to live in a society of butchery, and I've got to face the fact that I'm different! That I have to live forever, and you don't. Maybe the Game was invented to keep us from thinking about what fates we have in store for us..."

"The Watchers will always be there..."

"And that's supposed to reassure me?" The bark of laughter was angry, mocking. "Think about what you do, girl child!"

"What we do?"

"You watch others live! You watch us go about our business, you watch us live, you watch us die. You keep records of what you see as important in our lives, not what we see as important. To be eternally recorded by what you want least remembered! And not having the chance to correct them! And forgive me for this, oh god of the guitar, but... Dawson told me, you know, that Pierson's files say nothing about his love for rock and roll, or his unending appetite for beer, or the simple fact that he likes playing computer games! Just the heads Pierson's taken, and the fact that he's not been involved in any wars. And the little bit that the Watchers want his head to roll. Immortal's files have nothing about life, and everything about death. First death, first head taken, how many heads taken, how involved we were when mortals decided to perform mass butchery upon each other... when our own heads were taken, and by whom. Death, death, and more death. We're not here as death incarnate. We're here to live, or so I hope. My worst nightmares are of living death... as prisoners of some government, our lives taken away, and only our ability to die and come back left to us. Do you know how it feels to die?"

A silent, tense pause on the tape...

"No, of course not... simple. It's blank. You die, and come back. When I was being taught, my teacher shoved a sword through my heart, because I made a mistake, and he wanted me to learn. I was conscious of sliding off his blade, of everything going numb, of the sound roaring in my ears as it all went black and cold." Her voice was soft, again, filled with a macabre nostalgia. "And then, I was aware of sucking a breath in, of being whole and hale. Of time having passed, while I was gone, and no one in the world caring in the least. Of phantom pains, my mind swore should be there, but my body chased them away, and I had to stand and fight again."

"What do you think of Pierson?"

"What a man! He's got depth of personality! He's complex, wonderful! And when you get him drunk, he's easily seducible! Unfortunately, he's hard to get drunk... damn college students, raising their tolerance. Okay, so he's older than me, I admit it. Not any Immortals who aren't older than me, as far as I know. Even the dear deceased Ritchie would have been older than me. I'm the baby of the family!" she laughed.

"What about your teacher, Matthias...?"

"Ah, that's a slightly touchy ground there love. I mean, he is my teacher. I owe him my life, he saved me from the grave after all. But for all of that, he's a tempermental, suspicious sort. Kind of like a giant grizzly bear you really don't want to piss off. He hates the Watchers, hates being spied upon. He hates Methos, and Adam Pierson, and if he knew I was hanging in Seacouver with Pierson, I'd find myself short a head. He does love me, in his own way. I am his student. His willfull, disrespectful, rebellious daughter, if you will. In fact, I think he's called me all of that, too!"

"He doesn't like Pierson?"

"Adam kicked my ass in a LAN game of Unreal last night." She changed the topic, subtly warning her questioner that that was another Immortal's private business. She chuckled wryly. "Clever, clever boy. Thinks he's gonna dodge my net..."

"You want to..."

"What? You're not asking that question. It's rated NC-17, honey, and you're forever twelve in my mind!"

"Great, eternally remembered as a twelve year old." The Watcher spoke dryly.

"In matters like that, maybe... Well, actually, personal sex life, you're not prying into, doll. Now, sex in general, and lewd jokes, those, well, you're old enough to know them. You're what, twenty-eight?"

"Thirty-two."

"Jesus Cluny Frog!" The Immortal yelped.

A third voice spoke up. "Young woman, this is the Cathedral gardens! We appreciate a respect for the Lord while on His property!" It was from a distance, chiding.

"Sorry, ma'am..." The Immortal sounded sheepish as she called back. "I was startled, and I forgot myself. I'll try and improve my language..." She whispered. "If you're thirty-two... then I'm thirty-seven years old... oh my god, I'm almost middle aged... eek..."

"You're going to be twenty-eight forever, you know..."

"Twenty-seven, eleven months, and thirty days, love... one day shy of twenty-eight. At least I'm not gonna look like a kid for eternity. I've got a bunch of white hairs. Must have been my family that did it to me, huh?"

"Sounds about right for us..." The Watcher chuckled. "And your middle aged is somewhere in the hundreds..."

"Okay, just so whomever's listening to this knows, I just grimaced... A nice, big grimace..." The Immortal said, droll voice dripping amusement and disdain after a brief pause. "It's not nice to point out to a lady that she's going to be really, really old, Shan. Twenties and thirties is the perfect age range, not a hundred and something."

"And so whomever's listening to this knows, she's a real pain the butt at times... pointing out that I'm not that far from middle-aged."

"So, when are you getting married? Settle down with a nice Watcher. I know one who's single, has gorgeous red hair, freckles... about my age..."

There was a brief snerk, as the Watcher controlled the impulse to laugh. "Trying to fix me up with your Watcher?"

"What? You can switch off. I'm not about to keep you in the dark, and if he's married to you, he won't have to work too hard. All he has to do is ask you what I'm up to. I keep no personal secrets from you, I swore I never would. I really don't mean him any harm either, you know..." A deep sigh. "And, well, I want to see you with kids one day. Name a kid after me, or name them after my Dad... Although, the kids of Watchers probably become Watchers, so that'd be breaking the Prime Directive, me seeing them, wouldn't it?"

"Like this isn't?"

"Ah, point... but you're the one who confronted me, not I you."

"True..."

"I love you, I love my entire family, who thinks I'm dead and gone. I love you all so fiercely, I think my heart may shred itself to pieces under the fury of it. If you ever need to know, or anyone does, I'm loving them as fiercely as possible from the next life." A wry laugh. "Indeed, the next life I pick up and live! But, coz, I treasure each moment I spend with you, and I just want you to be happy. Knowing you're happy will make me one of the happiest Immortals in the world. I want you to have a life beyond me, so you don't watch me stay young as you grow old... so you don't get bitter. I don't want to become anyone's sole and only life. I don't want people being bitter, and angry, and sour old folks because of me. I want them, all my Watchers, to have rewarding lives, where I'm only an incidental. It's my life goal, to make people happier, and never to cause unhappiness in anyone's life by my actions or lack thereof. My Immortality is a potential harm, and I will not allow that to happen. I will fix you up, and make you happy, and be bitter by myself on the sidelines of the universe."

"That's kinda sweet."

"Thanks..." It was soft voiced. "Oh, great..." Came a following mutter, slightly aggrieved.

"Are you okay? You look like you just got hit on the head by a two-by-four..."

"Another Immortal..." was the dark mutter, suspicious. "Oh! It's two. Pierson and MacLeod. Uh, look... if I get caught consorting with Watchers..."

"You're not running off that easily..."

"Look, the only thing worse would be for my teacher to show up! He hates the Watchers, you know. Doesn't realize how extensive your organization is, though. Thank the gods... MacLeod you already know means you no harm. Pierson, well, you know he's a renegade Watcher. Uh, kill him, and cousin or no, your head will roll."

"You're defending him?"

"I like the man, and no one deserves to die like that!" The Immortal was angry, and annoyed. Dawson correctly identified a third emotion as fear, fear of dying that same way for knowing too much about Watchers... "Look, I'll see you later. Same bat time, same bat channel, okay?" She made an effort to put some love, and apology, into her voice, even if residual anger and fear lurked within it.

"See you, coz." The Watcher replied. Then, quietly, as the distant voice of the Immortal greeted her friends. "God knows I love you, even if you are Immortal."

The tape clicked, then hissed, as the Watcher reached over and switched it off.

Dawson sighed, and rolled his eyes, and turned off his tape player. It was a dangerous game Shan was playing, and Nan knew it. Knew Shan was risking her life, and Nan's head, with these conversations. His order to research Immortals could only protect her so far, and it couldn't protect Nan any from the Watchers who'd demand that an Immortal who knew about them had to die. And it wouldn't protect the fire-haired Micheal O'Bourne from the Watchers who would censure him for having his own assignment save his life. Dawson wouldn't, but others would.

He left his office, sliding the tape into a desk drawer, to hide under some paperwork. "Mike!"

"Yeah?" Mike looked up from the bar.

"When Nan comes in, give her a free drink. Tell her it's for the Game that her cousin is playing with her, and my apologies. I'll try to protect her as much as I can."

Mike looked fairly startled. "Sure thing, Joe."

"And when O'Bourne shows up, send him to my office. I have a thing or two to talk about with him..."


End file.
